Nation, not monster
by genericamerican
Summary: Sam and Dean investigate a seemingly simple case- a wendigo has kidnapped some campers, and of course, the Winchesters must find them. But one camper has some surprising abilities. . . T, for some blood and the occasional swear word.
1. Chapter 1

**Author note:**

 **My first fan fiction! Please read, comment, review- and please be nice.**

 **This is set in season 7 of supernatural, sometime between episode 8 and episode 21.**

 **I do not own Supernatural or Hetalia.**

* * *

"Hey, I think I've got a case." Sam looked over to where his brother was glued to the TV. It was some doctor show- not Doctor Sexy, though. Just how many doctor shows were there?

"Dean."

"Fine, fine. I'm turning it off. What case?"

"A possible wendigo. A group of campers-"

Dean got up and started rummaging through the beer cans on top of the counter.

"Dude, it's rude to interrupt."

"I'm just cleaning my gun." Dean sat down at the table again and began taking apart his pistol.

"Well, _as I was saying_ ," Sam emphasized, "a group of campers have disappeared. They were pretty deep in the woods, camping together, and were attacked by what the police are assuming was a bear or other wild animal. I checked the local history, though, and there have been other periodic disappearances for decades. Also, the survivor-"

"The survivor?"

"Yeah, I thought that was weird too. He survived, but was badly injured, and is in a hospital outside of Athens, Ohio."

"Does it say what the survivor saw?"

"Nope. Just that he was badly injured, and just reached a stable condition a day ago. The attack happened a couple nights ago."

"Let's go talk to him, then. See why he was left behind."

* * *

No matter what had just happened, or what they were heading towards, Dean would always feel better driving Baby. The engine would be humming, it would be sunny outside, and Sam would be in the seat next to him.

 _Would_ be. That they were hard to kill was annoying, the black goo was disgusting, but sometimes he thought that the main reason Leviathans should go to hell was because now he had had to put Baby in storage for her own safety, and switch every few weeks between various shitty cars, none of which could even hold a candle to Baby.

So, now he was driving a dirty Dodge Challenger, it was humid and rainy, and Sam- well, Sammy was currently hunched over his phone, scrolling through pictures with a determined expression.

"Sammy, you're going to use up the battery."

"I already did. This is your phone."

"What? You-" He checked his pockets, then glared at Sam.

"Give me that!" Dean made a grab for the phone. Laughing, Sam held it out of reach and shoved Dean back to his side. "Keep your eyes on the road, bitch."

"Jerk." Dean sat back in his seat to face the road, smiling. "So what were you so focused on?"

"I was looking up the survivor's name, trying to find a facebook or something."

"Did you?"

"No, but. . . . . he must have a strong family resemblance. I've found 5 pictures over the past century, and I swear they're the same kid." Sam held the phone up and scrolled through the photos.

"Huh. You think he's a monster, too?"

"Maybe. But maybe it is just family resemblance. Remember that photo album that Garth showed us? He looked like an exact clone of all his female ancestors."

"That's true." Dean cut off the car to his right and made the exit ramp- barely. "Either way, we'll find out soon. Twenty minutes to the hospital."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2! Yay!**

 **I think I'll try to add chapters twice a week, on Wednesday and a weekend day.**

 **I do not own Supernatural or Hetalia.**

* * *

"Hello. I'm looking for the room of Alfred Jones. He was injured in the camping incident recently." Sam was about to flash his badge, but out of the corner of his eye noticed Dean chatting up a nurse in hot pink scrubs. _Really?_

"Sir. . . . Sir, we can't just give out that information."

"Oh. . . . sorry. Agent Scully, FBI."

She examined the badge. "He's in room 23, sir." She smiled. "If you need . . . . anything, just ask for Jenna."

"Thanks." He smiled back, then turned around. Jenna was pretty. . . . more so, he thought, than hot pink scrubs that Dean was . . . . . currently exchanging numbers with. Damn, that was fast.

"Alright, Alfred's in room 23." They started walking.

"Alfred? Where's he from? Fresh out of boarding school?" Dean snickered.

"Alfred's a great name."

"For a butler." Dean glanced over. "Name one famous person with the name Alfred."

"Well, Alfred Lord Tennyson was a great poet-"

"A poet. Of course he was a poet. Nerd." Dean grinned.

"Yes, Dean, I do read poetry. It's called cultu- oh." The smile slipped off Sam's face and he took a step back as he saw what was in the hospital room.

"He's not dead, is he? After we came all this w-" Dean stopped.

Luckily, the kid was asleep, and didn't hear their reactions. And he was a kid-couldn't have been older than 19. The right side of his face was away from them, but they could tell that it was covered with bandages, with only some of his straw-blond hair poking out. There were bandages over his shoulder, chest, and left arm, and then- well, it appeared that he had lost his right arm, and part of his right leg.

"That certainly qualifies as badly injured." Dean moved closer.

"He must have really pissed off that wendigo. But they don't usually let one go."

"Yeah." Dean tapped gently on the kid's shoulder, where it seemed like it wouldn't hurt.

"Alfred?"

The kid moved a little,but didn't wake up.

"Alfred, we're from the FBI. We want to ask you some questions, if that's alright."

The kid slowly turned his head. He gave them both a confused look, blue eye looking dazed. Sam guessed that with all the painkillers he had to be on, they were going to get a very confused account of what happened.

"We're with the FBI. Are you up to answering some questions?" Dean repeated.

Alfred nodded slowly, then shifted slightly to face them more. Sam was right- the bandages covered all of the right side of his face. It looked like he had lost an eye, too. Poor kid had barely started to live his own life.

"Let's start before the attack. What were you doing?" Dean asked quietly.

Alfred took a bit to answer. "I. . . . was hiking."

"Alone? You weren't with the others?"

"No. . . I found their campsite. . . . they said I could hang out. I don't usually get to hang out with anyone recently. . . . " Alfred seemed to focus on something on the ceiling. "I should have protected them better. . . . . they were. . . . they were my responsibility."

"Alfred, it's not your fault. You couldn't have done anything." Sam said.

The kid turned away from them, pulling on the blankets. "Yes, I could have! I could have done more, I should have-" He tried to sit up, and it took both Dean and Sam to push him back down. The kid didn't look it, but he was strong.

"It wasn't enough! I got it, but it wasn't enough, it took them, and it came for me. I tried to hit it, I tried, I couldn't stop it. . . . . . " Alfred was sobbing now, and the Winchesters judged that anything they said, it wouldn't help. They waited for Alfred to calm down.

When the sobs turned to sniffling, Sam spoke up. "What did you try to hit it with?"

"I. . . . . I tried to use a tr-an axe. I found an axe for firewood, and I thought I got it, but it only came at me faster. And it was already faster than I could see. . . . "

Alfred shuddered and his eye darted around the room, as if looking for it to show up again.

"What did it look like?"

"A shadow, with huge claws, and-and it-" Now Alfred's gaze was focused on a spot just past the Winchesters, and they both had to resist the urge to check behind them.

Sam got up. "We'll find the others, Alfred. Thank you for answering our questions. "

Alfred's terrified breathing was their only answer.

* * *

Outside the room, they both stopped.

"That was horrible." Dean let out a breath and leaned back against the wall.

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "But did anything he say seem. . . . off to you?"

"Yeah, all of it. After losing two limbs, I'll bet he's on enough painkillers to numb a moose." Dean started rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I wish there was something we could do. I liked him immediately."

"Yeah, me too."

"I wish we could heal him. I wish Cas-" Dean broke off. Cas couldn't. Cas was gone, and the Leviathans were taking over, and his brother was seeing Satan, (but it's alright, he says he's managing it,) and everything was going to shit like always and-

And he was going to shut the fuck up, there were six campers to save, and a wendigo to burn.

"Dean?"

"Hm?"

"I said we should go to the police office next, see what they got." He started down the hall.

"Right." Dean started walking too, determined to focus on finding the campers, not anything else. A short guy with some really distinctive eyebrows shoved past him in a hurry.

"Watch where you're going, you bloody idiot," he snarled. Dean leaned away, but Eyebrows grabbed his jacket. "You-"

Another blond, with much less eyebrow and much better hair, put a hand on the guy's shoulder. "Arthur. Let's go." Eyebrows let go angrily and stalked off down the hall.

Dean watched them leave. _What an odd pair. No- an odd trio._ A kid in a red hoodie with glasses was following behind.

"Dean, _come on._ " Sam grabbed him by the shoulder and started dragging him to the exit.


	3. Chapter 3

"Yeah. . . . it was horrible. The 911 call was mostly just screams. . . . " The young sheriff looked a little pale. "And that poor kid lost his entire arm and leg." He swallowed. "I didn't think he was alive when I found him."

"You found him?"

"Yeah." The sheriff took a deep breath. "One of the other campers had called for help before they were taken. It looked like Alfred had tried to defend him, and been torn apart for it."

"Could I listen to the 911 call?" Sam asked.

"Sure, but like I said, it's mostly just screams. The crime scene might be more helpful."

 ** _The Crime Scene_**

"So, what makes you think they were taken, not eaten, by this wild animal?" Dean poked around in the ruined campsite.

"There's not enough blood for all 6 of the other campers to have been . . . . eaten. . . . here in this spot." The sheriff guestured to the blood-soaked remains of tents and sleeping bags. "Also, there are some drag marks leading that way." He pointed.

Sam walked up. "When did this tree fall over?" He pointed at a massive tree trunk that had fallen over a corner of the campsite.

"Probably about a week ago; we had a thunderstorm with some pretty strong winds."

"None of the other trees are blown down, though." Sam pointed out.

"It might have already been dying of disease or had bugs eating at it. Why does it matter? Trees fall over quite a lot."

"Ah, just wondering." Sam walked around the tree, thinking. A bloodstained pair of glasses was lying on the ground, and Sam picked them up absentmindedly.

The sheriff shifted his weight. "Umm. . . . This is one of several cases I have right now."

"Go ahead, I know you're busy." Sam smiled. "We'll be fine here. Thank you."

"Of course." A slightly-relieved-looking sheriff walked back to his car.

"That tree didn't fall over in a storm, did it."

"No, it was ripped out of the ground. The leaves and roots look too healthy for it to have already been weakened."

"I don't think even a wendigo can uproot a tree. Great. So there's another monster to find after we kill this one." Dean sighed. "We got anything else?"

"There's not enough blood for the campers to be dead, but I'll bet several are injured. The campfire was scattered- I assume from a camper, not a wendigo, so someone is probably burned. The drag marks the sheriff mentioned end, but point in the general direction of some caves nearby. Also, I can't find the ax that Alfred mentioned."

Dean blinked. "Well, you've been busy, Sherlock."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Wait, did you say caves?"

"Yeah, Ohio's got a lot of caves-"

"Come on, Sammy! Let's get out of these suits, grab some flamethrowers, and go spelunking!" Dean gleefully started back toward the car. Sam followed, slowly.

* * *

"Alright, we're here! Time to go spelunking!" Dean and Sam were watching the mouth of the cave from behind a stand of trees. No wendigo had come out, so their plan was one person would be bait and the other would quietly find the campers.

"You have managed to say that word every five minutes for the past hour," Sam groaned.

"Come on, say it! Spelunking!"

"Yeah, alright. Let's go." Sam held out a fist to play rock-paper-scissors. "Winner gets to be bait."

Sam had paper, and Dean had scissors.

"Cool. Wait a couple minutes-"

"-for you to get its attention. I know." Sam said.

Dean headed into the cave, holding one of their homemade flamethrowers and a lighter, yelling, "You want some dinner, bitch? Come and get it!"

Sam waited. Dean's taunts faded, and it became eerily quiet. Sam looked at his watch-it had been nearly five minutes. His turn now.

He headed into the cave. The tunnel was small, and he had to duck fairly low to walk forward. _At least the last time we killed a wendigo the mineshaft had a decent ceiling height,_ he grumbled mentally. Here, he kept bumping his head on the rough ceiling.

Thankfully, he soon came to a fork in the tunnel, and the ceiling was higher. He straightened up. There were two options; down one of them, he was pretty sure he could hear Dean yell "Over here, you bastard!" Sam chose the other one.

Several minutes later, he got to the entrance of a large cavern. Two giant stalactites flanked the entrance like columns in front of a courthouse. More grew inside, some touching and creating pillars. The back of the cave faded into darkness.

From that darkness, he heard a cough.

Sam held his flamethrower and lighter out in front of him, and headed toward the noise. The six campers- four guys, and two girls- were tied to several large stalactites. Sam put down the flamethrower and started cutting the rope of the camper that looked the most alert.

"What's your name?"

"Danielle."

"OK, Danielle, we're going to get you out of here."

She nodded, and took a deep breath. "Please- can you check on Sean? He hasn't woken up since the attack." She nodded to a guy in the corner, standing slumped against a stalagmite and only held up by a piece of bloodstained rope tying him to the rock.

Sam finished cutting her free, then quickly moved over to him, and checked his pulse. "He's still alive." Sam started sawing at the rope, and pulled him away from the rock. He saw a knife in Sean's back pocket and gave it to Danielle. "Can you get some of the others free?"

She nodded and went to the closest one. Sam laid Sean on the ground, and cut free another camper. He groaned and fell forward as soon as the rope was cut- it looked like he had a broken leg. Sam cut the last camper from the rope, just as Dean strutted in, slightly singed and smelling like smoke.

"One extra crispy wendigo, to go." Dean grinned.

"Just one?!" Danielle dropped the knife.

"Yeah, why?"

"There were two!"

Sam and Dean both looked at her with a sudden jolt of fear.

"TWO?"

* * *

 **Sorry about the cliffhanger . . .**

 **Don't worry, the Winchesters will get right back to the nations after they handle this wendigo.**

 **Please read and review!**


	4. Chapter 4

The hair on the back of Dean's neck stood up and he tried to move. The wendigo behind him caught him from behind and ripped the back of his shirt open, flinging him against the wall. The flamethrower he was holding bounced and rolled farther into the cave.

Sam scrambled to get to his flamethrower, expecting to feel a wendigo's claws in his back any second, but he didn't. He managed to reach the flamethrower, and, turning around, noticed that the wendigo was dragging along a twisted, crushed leg. _That must be why._ The lighter wouldn't catch, the wendigo was coming closer, Sam moved backward to try to keep out of reach, and tripped and fell back just in time to avoid being decapitated by its claws. _WHY won't this damned lighter WORK-_

The wendigo went up in flames with an inhuman screech, and Sam crawled out of the way to avoid the burning corpse.

"Sammy?"

Sam hurried towards Dean, who was slowly moving at the base of the wall.

Dean looked up, blinking. "Sammy? Where's the wendigo?"

"I got him."

"Good." Dean winced. "Pretty sure I got a concussion. What happened to my back?"

"Wendigo got you good, but nothing some stitches won't fix."

"Alright." Dean got up, slowly, and made his way to the campers.

Sam went back as well. Sean was the only one who wouldn't wake up. Broken leg was the other one that would need to be carried. The others had several cuts and bruises, but would be able to walk to safety.

"I can help carry Jordan." Danielle supported the camper with the broken leg.

Sam checked on Sean. There was a fairly deep shoulder wound, but other than that, nothing. "Did he hit his head in the attack?"

"Yes. One of the- things-" Jordan guestured to the wendigo- "flung him out of the way and he hit a tree."

Sam nodded, and lifted Sean onto his back. Dean went to retrieve his flamethrower and they made their way toward the entrance.

"Was. . . . What happened to Alfred?" Danielle asked later. They were outside of the cave, making slow progress to where Sam and Dean had last had cellphone reception on the way there. The other campers would last, but Sam was mostly worried about Sean- who, according to Danielle, hadn't woken up in a couple of days.

"Alfred? He. . . . well. . . . ." Sam thought of that 19-year-old-kid they had talked to- alone, missing limbs, in intense pain, and terrified of the thing that had nearly killed him- and desperately wished there was some way to fix it.

"He's. . . . dead, isn't he." She looked away.

"No, he's alive. We talked to him before we came here."

Danielle looked up, and the look in her eyes was as if it was her brother who had come back to life- not someone who, supposedly, had appeared out of nowhere and hung out for a couple hours. Alarm bells started going off.

"Did you know him from college?" Sam asked.

"No. . . . he came out of the forest near our campsite. Not on a walking trail or anything, just out of the middle of the forest- it was a bit creepy. But I liked him immediately."

Sam blinked. He had the strangest sense of deja vu- Dean had said the exact same words, in the exact same tone, to him in the hospital after talking to Alfred. The alarm bells in Sam's head rang louder. It looked like they should investigate Alfred next.

"But then he. . . . never mind."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It probably does. Could I hear it?"

"Well. . . . " She studied him. "No, I can't."

"Danielle."

"You. . . . you said you guys were hunters. You hunt things that aren't human."

"And. . . "

"And whatever Alfred is, he's not human."

"How do you know?"

"When the attacks started, everyone was screaming, and running away. But he ran towards them, and-" She stopped. "This next part's kind of hard to believe."

"Try me."

"He uprooted an entire tree like it was nothing. And it was a huge tree. He _threw_ it at one of the wendigos. It got caught in it, and the thing was just standing there, screeching at us. Then he reaches into the firepit, grabs a burning log, and starts to throw it towards the one he trapped. And then- then, the second one- it came from behind and ripped him apart." She was breathing a lot faster at this point, and looked like she was going to puke at any second.

"Calm down, Danielle. It's over now- everyone's alive, and the wendigoes won't be coming back."

"You're right, I know it's over, just. . . . "

"No, I understand. Just take a deep breath."

She nodded. Sam was surprised she was this coherent. Most of the other campers were in various states of shock.

"We got service!" Dean yelled. Everyone stopped walking and slumped to the ground, except Sam, Dean, and Danielle.

"Alright, Danielle. The story is-"

"It was a bear." She smiled sadly.

"We have to leave. Are you sure everyone will keep their stories straight?"

"I'll make sure." She lowered Jordan to the ground. "Please- don't kill Alfred."

"I don't want to." Sam really didn't- and something in him couldn't bear the thought of trying to kill him. "But we need to find out what he is."

* * *

 **Please read and review!**

 **I do not own Supernatural or Hetalia.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I apologize for not updating for so long. Several things happened- exams, broken laptops, leaky water pipes. . . The good thing is that I am nearly finished writing this story, and only have to type it up now. I also have ideas for several more.**

 **I do not own Supernatural or Hetalia.**

* * *

"He checked himself out?" Sam was surprised. That kid had been so out of it, he doubted Alfred could've made it out of bed.

"No, someone else checked him out. Said they were family." Jenna was looking through the hospital records. "A Mr. Arthur Kirkland."

"What did he look like?"

"Shorter, blond, early 20's. He had some unfortunate eyebrows, though."

Sam sighed. Now he was going to have to track him down. At least he had another name to work with. "Thanks, Jenna."

"Anytime.". She smiled again. Sam smiled back, but a little uneasily. Usually any girl that showed this much of an interest in him turned out to be a monster of some sort.

He headed back to Dean.

"Find him?" Dean asked.

"Nope. She said some family members checked him out."

"Great." Dean was rubbing his head where he had hit the ground earlier. "Let's go back to the motel. We've got no leads and I nearly got sliced and diced by a wendigo."

"But we _know_ there's a monster out there."

"A monster that tried to save campers from a wendigo, and was nearly torn apart for it. Besides, I like the kid."

"I do too. A little too much, considering I met him once for less than five minutes." Sam replied.

Dean looked up. "You're right."

"So maybe there's witchcraft. A charm or something. We should really keep looking."

"Where? Sammy, I just want to sleep. We can't do anything half asleep."

". . . . . Fine." Sam had kind of hoped to keep going. Lucifer liked to appear and start bothering him just as just as he was going to sleep. At least if he was working, Satan was easier to ignore.

8 a.m. found them at a McDonalds near the edge of town. Dean had wanted to stop at a diner, but Sam vetoed eating pie for breakfast, so now he was grumpily eating a breakfast sandwich and muttering at Sam. Sam had oatmeal, but wasn't eating it; he had his laptop open and was searching for more pictures of Alfred. He had found about 12 pictures now, spread over the past two centuries; and Alfred looked nearly the same in all of them, except he did seem to age slightly, and in the more recent ones he was wearing glasses. Sam thought of the bloody pair he had picked up at the campsite. Were those his?

"Look, Sam, I don't see why I can't have pie for breakfast once in a while. "

"Pie isn't a breakfast food, Dean." Sam squinted. This picture was faded and fuzzy, but it looked like Alfred. . . . . and who was that next to him? He looked familiar. Sam checked, and yes, that same man was also in a picture of Alfred from 50 years apart-and was exactly the same. _Shit. Was there more than one?_

". . . . . food is food, Sam, and say I should be able to eat pie for breakfast if I damn well want to.". He angrily took a bite of the breakfast sandwich. "And also- oh, shit."

"What?"

Dean dropped the sandwich back onto the tray and started to slip under the table.

"Dean?"

Trying and failing to quickly hide his 6+ feet under the table, Dean shoved Sam's feet out of the way and tried not to get tangled in the table support. "Shhh! Act natural!"

 _"Act natu-_ Dean, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

"Those two guys that just walked in. . . . . I saw them at the hospital. I think they went to Alfred's room."

"Really?". Sam turned on the webcam of his computer, so he could look behind him without turning around. Last in line was a guy with longish blond hair, annoying a guy that looked like- yes, it was the same man Sam had found twice in those pictures of Alfred. Those eyebrows could probably be seen from a mile away. _Arthur Kirkland?_

"You say they were headed toward Alfred's room?"

"Well, maybe not, but they were headed that direction. Also- now that I think about it, something seems off about them." Dean whispered from under the table.

"Yeah. I found a picture of the eyebrows guy with Alfred- in 1943."

Sam watched on his laptop. Eyebrows just- bugged him, somehow. And the other guy, fashionably dressed and flirting with the cashier, felt off, they same way that Eyebrows did. Like they didn't fit into their surroundings.

"We'll follow them once they leave." Dean whispered.

"Are you sure? We have no idea what they are, or how to kill them."

"Well, let's find out."


	6. Chapter 6

**Over 30 followers! I had no idea it was that good. . . . Thank you for all the follows and reviews!**

 **This story will be done soon- but I have a couple more in the works.**

 **I do not own Supernatural or Hetalia.**

* * *

Dean had been driving for about half an hour now. Wherever Eyebrows and his friend were headed, it was way out in the country. There weren't any other towns for miles.

A few minutes later, the car Sam and Dean were following turned onto a long gravel driveway. Dean drove past to keep up appearances, then turned around and into the driveway. He parked behind a cluster of trees off the driveway and snuck forward, until they came to a small house, clearly not used for a while, with peeling paint on the walls and waist-high grass for a lawn. Surrounded by a forest slowly encroaching on the property, it had everything necessary for a horror film.

"Creepy house in the middle of the woods. Always a good sign." Dean watched as Eyebrows and the other man took the food they had ordered out of the backseat and headed inside. He started quietly moving towards the front door.

"Dean, wait. What's the plan?"

"We're gonna go in there and get some answers."

"And we're just going to point a gun at them and make them spill their guts?"

"That's how we usually do it, Sammy," Dean reminded him.

"True, but we still don't know what these things are. I'm thinking witches, maybe- but maybe not. How do we know what will kill then if it comes to that?"

"Even if it won't kill them, most things don't like bullets." Dean held up his gun. "And hopefully it won't come to that. There's been no evidence of witchcraft or anything else in town, maybe they aren't doing anything and we can let them be."

The look on Sam's face clearly said _Since when has that ever happened?_

"Well, maybe it'll happen this time, Sam, you never know."

Sam was still giving him the look.

"Sammy, come on, we're wasting time. You go around to the back door, I'll go in front, and two minutes from now we both go in and get answers. Alright?"

"Fine." Sam agreed reluctantly.

Sam crept along the side of the house toward the back. He could hear a conversation from inside, and then a sharp "Ow!". Stopping under a window, he checked his watch. Thirty seconds and they would come in from both sides, blocking the exits.

Conversation leaked out of the broken window above him.

". . . . . . . . be quiet, you'll be fine." The British accent was unexpected.

"I lost two limbs, I'm allowed to say it hur- OW!" That would be Alfred. He sounded a lot more lucid than when they had talked to him yesterday morning.

"They'll regrow in a couple of days, now let me change the bandage!" The British accent was sounding more and more exasperated.

Sam checked his watch. Five seconds.

"Fine, just don't-"

TIME. Sam burst in the back door while Dean came in the front. Closest to him was the longer-haired blond, and Sam kept his gun on him. Dean quickly crossed the room and pointed his gun at Eyebrows, who was bandaging Alfred's wounds.

"We've got some questions that need answers. You answer them, and you can leave here alive."

"You'll let us live? How kind of you." Eyebrows had his hands up, but the look on his face was annoying Dean a lot.

"Arthur, don't-" Alfred protested from his chair.

Dean cut him off. "Yeah, we'll let you live. We've killed things worse than you and we can do it again." He moved up the pistol from pointing at his heart to right between those massive eyebrows.

"Wait, hold on-" Alfred used his good arm to push himself to a standing position. Dean moved the gun to him and immediately felt as if there was a weight tied to his arms. Every part of him wanted to point the gun somewhere else.

"You better stop whatever spell this is-"

"It's not a spell, I'm-"

"Dean, behind y-"

Dean felt something hit him from behind, just as "Arthur" barked something and sent a flash of green light towards Sam-

* * *

Sam woke up. Well, his mind did. He couldn't open his eyes- or move his hands, or feet, or anything else. He pushed down a sense of panic and tried to think. Someone had come up from behind Dean, and the guy with the eyebrows- Arthur- had shot some green bolt of light at him, and then he was knocked out- and, apparently, paralyzed. He tried again to move, and managed to twitch his fingers. Not paralyzed, then, but everything was coming back slowly. He'd have to wait to make a move.

"England, you can't brainwash them!"

 _England?_

"I'm not _going_ to brainwash them, it's just best they don't _remember-_ "

"They are _his_ citizens, Arthur, and your memory spells lack. . . . . finesse." A French accent spoke up.

"They hunt creatures that aren't human. Do you really think you can have them just leave you alone?"

"Yeah, I-"

"Ow! Shit-"

"Dean!" Sam tried to stand up and fell backward. It seemed like any movement more than blinking or breathing made his head swim and his eyesight blurry. It wasn't painful, but it would make standing or aiming anything impossible.

Dean was on the floor next to him, holding his head. A kid in a red hoodie was crouching over him. Arthur and the other were watching from several feet away, and Alfred was leaning against the table. Lucifer waved from a corner: Sam ignored him.

The kid next to Dean was whispering. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, but you were about to hit Arthur and I tried not to hit too hard-"

"I already had a concussion, I didn't need another one!"

"I'm really sorry, I didn't know, I-"

"Shut up! And stop apologizing! You're making my head hurt!"

The kid backed away and went to stand next to the table. He looked almost exactly like Alfred- but his eyes were a different shade, almost purplish, and his hair was a bit longer.

"Dean-"

"I'm fine, Sam."

 _Your concussion is worse, and there's red on the back of your shirt. Your stitches ripped._

"You were right, Sam, there's witchcraft involved. But something else, too. What are you? Vampire witches? Were-witches? Please don't be some new form of Leviathan."

All their weapons were on the table, and Sam still couldn't move much without the world swimming. The only option he could see was to keep talking until this spell wore off and he could stand up.

Alfred moved forward. "We're not monsters, we're Nations."


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you for all the follows and reviews! I finally took the test that was taking up all my time studying for. . . . maybe now I can finally update regularly.**

 **I do not own Supernatural or Hetalia.**

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Dean looked at Alfred. "What?"

Arthur glared. "I told you-"

"They're MY hunters, Arthur."

Dean cut in. "So now there's supernatural beings that control entire countries. Wonderful. You know what, Sam, I think I could handle some were-witches."

"We don't control the countries, we ARE the countries. I'm America. That's France, England and Canada."

"Explains the accents." Dean rubbed his forehead. "So, Canada, you got an admantium skeleton or something?"

"He's Canada, not wolverine, Dean."

"Right, so he's made of maple syrup and healthcare. And you're made of -"

"Freedom!" America grinned from his spot next to the table.

"And-"

"Angleterre is composed of bitterness and bad taste." France flipped his hair and it caught England full in the face. England spluttered as he tried to get the hair out of his eyes. "Overgrown frog-"

"Wait, how does this work? You are the countries? What about elections? Wars? Do you always heal this quickly?" Sam wondered.

"I usually get a headache around election day." America grimaced.

"Wars are always unpleasant, but I will fight for my people just as they fight for me. " France seemed unnaturally serious.

"What about the names? Alfred? Arthur?"

"Well, we can't call each other America or Canada in public, right? So he's Matthew Williams, Francis Bonnefoy, Arthur Kirkland, and I'm Alfred Jones." Alfred nodded to Canada- which, Sam realized guiltily, he'd forgotten about in the short time he wasn't looking at him- and then France, England, and himself.

Dean pointed at Alfred. "So. . . . you've got super-strength."

"It's awesome, right? Like I'm a superhero! Probably because I am the world's only superpower." America tried to flex and nearly fell over because he wasn't using the table for support.

"England's a witch-"

"Wizard."

"Well, that's some powerful magic, anyway."

"Britain has the highest concentration of magical power." He crossed his arms proudly.

"And- oh yeah- Canada. It's like you're invisible unless I look directly at you."

"Yes. . . . it's always like that." Matthew sighed. "I mean, when was the last time you saw Canada in the news?"

Dean nodded and looked like he regretted it. "So, Francis, any superpowers?"

"Well, unlike Angleterre, I can actually cook."

"It's not that bad!"

Francis turned. "Arthur, last time we let you near a stove, you burned down a house trying to boil water."

"Oh yeah! I never got to ask- how'd you manage that?" Alfred laughed.

"Look, there was a problem with the wiring-"

"It was a gas stove."

Matthew started chuckling quietly and Francis and Arthur continued to argue. Sam realized that whatever spell he was under, it was almost gone. He stood up- slowly. "They always like this?"

"Yeah, usually." Sam jumped. Matthew- Canada- had shown up beside him.

Dean stood up and leaned against the table. "So, Alfred. . . . why can't I shoot you?"

Alfred was still smiling. Dean was pretty sure that was his default expression. "You're not a traitor, are you?"

"What? No!"

"Well, that's why! Citizens usually find it hard to harm their country. I'm also really cool though, so that helps."

Matthew rolled his eyes.

"So what do you do all day? Just. . . . . country things? Does the president know?" Dean stumbled slightly and tried to pass it off as shifting his weight.

"Well, I usually work in the government as an aide, but sometimes I'm in the military. And the president knows! So does the head pf CIA and NSA and stuff. But it's so fun to introduce myself to each president! England does this boring thing where him and the prime minister and the Queen all sit down and have "a spot of tea" on the first day, but on the President's first day, they brief him and tell him "this is the most important national secret", that it's right next to the nuclear launch codes and then they bring him to this secret bunker in a concrete room, and they're so serious the entire time, and then I come in, awesome as ever and I usually offer them McDonalds, and the look on their face is _hilarious._ I always wish I could take a picture, but they don't allow cameras in the bunker. . . . . . . . . . .What?"

Sam was staring at him. "Last I saw you, you only had a right shoulder. Now it's nearly to your elbow."

"Yeah, it regrows. Should be back to normal in three or four days. Fingers are tricky." Alfred shrugged. "The FBI file says you guys have a '67 Impala-"

"OW!" Arthur broke off his argument with Francis, clutching his chest.

Francis immediately responded. "Heart attack? It's about time. Probably those horrible scones-"

"No, something's coming." Arthur let go of his shirt. "After those two rudely barged in here, I put up some wards. Something just broke through."

"Well, what is it?" Dean grabbed his gun from the table.

"I don't know- it's vicious, and evil, and ancient- it feels slimy, it's-"

"Leviathan." Sam was peering out the front window. "Too bad for you, Dean. Hot pink scrubs is standing out there." Sam was smirking a little. Dean sighed in disappointment and checked the bullets in the magazine.

"How many?"

"Nine."

"Shit." Dean looked down, shoulders hunched, trying to ignore the dizziness that was growing along with the wet patch he could feel soaking the back of his shirt.

"Ok, we can-"

"We can't fight that many Leviathans, Dean." Sam crossed to the back window. "Not when you can barely stand up- _Fuck_ , there's at least three more in the back."

Arthur cleared his throat. "I think I-"

"I'm _fine,_ Sam!"

"NO, you're not. I think if we can break through and make it to a car-"

"Francis, Alfred, Matthew, hold on. Sam and Dean-" The boys turned to see Arthur reaching towards them, with the other three nations taking hold of his right arm. He grabbed them both by their jackets, and as the room disappeared in a swirl of green, Sam could only hope this ended up better than the last spell Arthur had used on him.


End file.
